Just A Couple of Ponds: I'm Just Crazy For You
by queen-of-whump
Summary: Part 6 of Just A Couple of Ponds! Amelia Pond's life hasn't turned out the way she would have hoped. Will anyone ever be there for her? A certain awkward nurse comes to the rescue, but he might not be in time. If you have any story ideas for the series, don't hesitate to shoot me a message! I haven't turned any ideas down yet, and I don't plan to!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

**Hello all you wonderful people! **

**I just wanted to take a moment to thank you guys for your great support with me writing the "Just A Couple of Ponds" series. I don't want to get to long-winded and cheesy...but seriously. Every single review means a lot. Please keep them coming! I love hearing from you, whether it's praise or critique.**

**Sylar1610 gets the credit for this story! The idea was his, I just filled in the details for him. It was such a complicated idea that it's becoming a full story instead of a oneshot! That's kinda cool, right? **

**Anyway, enjoy! This is pretty much AU, which I don't usually do. As you can see, I do accept AU requests and ideas! **

**Reviews are love! **

"Amelia, do you want to talk to me about it?"

"No."

"I would like you to think about your answer. Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Let's try this again. Take your time before you answer me..."

"I don't want to bloody talk to you, alright?"

"Alright, I'm going to give you some quiet time. You need to think."

Amelia Pond turned her face away in defiance. She was on the edge of giving up. No matter how many times she argued, it always came to this. Her having nothing but quiet time. It was idiotic.

As far as she was concerned, there was nothing left to say. It was just that no one was listening to her. No one.

So why were they still trying to make her talk? Her answer would never change.

She was so alone. On her birthday.

Today was her birthday.

She'd grown up alone. Sometime around her eighth birthday, her parents had died. Then the baby had died. Then her uncle, then her aunt. Just two years ago, on her eighteenth birthday.

Why was it always on her birthdays?

Today was her birthday.

She wondered who would die today.

The syrupy, sickening voice broke through her thoughts.

"Amelia, I'm going to come back in an hour, okay? You just think about it."

Amelia didn't want to answer; somehow, the same phrase, or idea, or belief, or brainless hope, always escaped her lips.

"He's coming for me."

The woman's back stiffened, then turned to face Amelia. Amelia couldn't remember this woman's name, even after all these years..Price, maybe. Doctor Price.

The woman had pasted on her patronizing smile like she always did. Amelia knew the speech that was coming.

"Amelia, you know where you are, yes?" As always, Doctor Price didn't wait for an answer. "You're in a mental institution. A hospital. Do you know why you're here?"

Amelia spit out the words like she'd rehearsed...she was still hoping that her words could sound bitter enough to poison the woman. Make her keel over dead.

"I am Amelia Pond. I am twenty-one years old. I am a paranoid, disillusioned schizophrenic. I live at Bad Wolf Mental Institution, and I have for three years."

"Good...except you're twenty, not twenty one." the woman purred.

"No, I'm twenty one. Today's my birthday." Amelia tossed her hair.

The doctor was slightly surprised.

"Is it? I...are you sure?"

"Very. Go check my file."

Price, a little speechless, got up. Then she kind of froze...like she'd remembered why she sat down in the first place.

"Amelia, I'm reminding you again..." Price laid her hand on Amelia's shoulder. "The man in the blue box...he's not real. He's in your head."

Amelia was exhausted.

"No, he's not. Quit saying that."

Price just walked out.

"I want a new doctor!" Amelia shouted. "You obviously aren't good at your job!"

The insult had sounded better in her head.

DWDWDWDWDWDWDWDWDW

The humming noise was getting louder. Much louder. Amelia realized that the red fuzz that she was seeing must be the backs of her eyelids. Slowly, painfully, she opened them.

The red didn't go away. She was sitting alone, on the middle of the hard floor, covered in something.

She remembered that she had been eating her lunch. What had happened?

There was blood everywhere. Someone had gotten hurt, maybe.

The knife she'd used to cut up the oven-roasted chicken breast with rosemary was on the floor in front of her. It had blood on it, too.

Squinting, she raised her hands in front of her face. Blood. Lots of it.

Amy wondered if she should tell someone about the blood. But all she wanted to do was sleep.

She pressed the emergency button on the wall, then laid down on the bed and fell asleep.

DWDWDWDWDWDWDWDWDW

"What in Pete's name happened to this one?"

"Self harm. We didn't think she was the kind, but we were wrong."

Doctor Price's voice. And someone else's...a man's voice. She didn't like it.

Amelia tried to open her eyes. She felt like her body was being moved, and there were lots of noises.

She tried to talk, but nothing came out.

"Lie still." The man's voice said harshly.

She didn't like him.

Dr. Price's voice: "You've had an accident, Amelia. Lie still like Doctor James says. You will..."

The last part of Dr. Price's speech faded as Amelia's world fell back into darkness.

DWDWDWDWDWDWDWDWDW

Amelia was sent back to Bad Wolf one week and twenty-seven stitches later. As far as anyone could tell, she had been trying to get out of her room when she'd cut herself. There were knife scratches all around the door, and some of the nurses were making bets on whether it was just an accident or if she had been trying to kill herself.

They didn't think that Amelia could hear them, but she could.

She wasn't trying to kill herself. She knew that much. But she couldn't remember anything else.

Except maybe the dream.

That was one thing that she'd clung to since being institutionalized. She still dreamed every single night. Dreamed about her Doctor in his blue box.

This time had been different though, she had dreamed about a man. A different man.

Suddenly, Amelia jolted in her bed, straining against the soft cloth restraints on her wrists. She knew who the man was.

DWDWDWDWDWDWDWDWDW

"Amelia, calm down. Orderly...a little something for Miss Pond?"

"No! Don't you dare drug me!" Amelia screamed at Doctor Price.

"Doctor James did not try to hurt you, Amelia."

"I dreamed about him!" the red head screamed.

"That's because you're crazy!" Price screamed back.

Amelia just stared. Finally...the woman had totally lost her cool.

The woman ran a hand across her eyes, and turned to the orderly, who was also staring in shock.

"Give her a sedative, will you, Jenna?"

The dark haired woman nodded wordlessly, and the frazzled psychologist fled the room.

"Jenna, you have to get me out of here." Amelia whispered as the orderly held a needle to her arm. "Please. I'm not crazy."

The other girl's lip trembled, but she gave Amelia the sedative and left the room without a word.

DWDWDWDWDWDWDWDWDW

"Please sit still, Miss Pond. A nurse will be in to check your stitches in a moment."

Amelia nodded and rubbed gingerly at her arm. She was back at the hospital two weeks after her "accident" to get her dressing changed. The paper on the bed she was sitting on was scratchy and a funny pink color.

"Sweetie," the receptionist smiled gently and patted Amelia's shoulder. "Don't scratch them."

"Thanks." Amelia mumbled.

The woman smiled again. "Don't worry, sweetie. You're gonna be fine."

Amelia had memorized the dull, green pattern on the wallpaper by the time the door to her room swung open.

"Miss Pond? How are you doing today?"

She looked up and plastered on her look-I'm-smiling-don't-ask-me-any-stupid-questions smile.

The young, tousle-headed nurse flashed a genuine, but very shy smile at her.

"Good. My name's Rory. I'll be your nurse today."

**I hope you guys enjoyed chapter one! Chapter two coming soon. Remember to rate and review! Also, spread the series! It would thrill my little heart to get some more readers. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Afraid this chapter might be a little short. Life is hectic, and I'm working on...a lot of stories at once. Please bear with me. **

Amelia whimpered and jerked her arm away, clenching her teeth.

"Sorry. Sorry, love." Rory murmured. He paused cleaning her wound and touched her shoulder. "You good?"

She nodded, staring at him. "You have to help me." she whispered.

He looked up at her, surprised. "W-what?"

She felt just as surprised by her words as he was.

"I...I think someone is trying to hurt me." the words tumbled out. "The people at the...asylum." she realized what she was saying, and caught the look on his face. "Please, I know they say I'm crazy, but you have to believe me. I think they're trying to kill me."

There was silence for the longest time.

"You know what...Rory? Forget it. Just forget it."

Just as she was about to slip behind her mask again, he seemed to catch up with the conversation.

"Someone's trying to kill you?"

Something inside her exploded.

He was actually considering truth in her words. Not just turning her down.

She jumped up and flung her arms around his neck, sobbing hysterically.

She felt his hand awkward, hesitant. Making little, thumping circles on her right shoulder.

He smelled like happiness. She couldn't put her finger on it, but it was definitely a happy smell.

Cinnamon, maybe.

The cinnamon didn't really matter though. He believed her. Maybe even just a little bit.

"Someone's trying to kill you." he murmured, not exactly to her.

He pulled back to look at her. "Who?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear, suddenly shy. "Doctor James."

He stood up, dropping the suture needle onto the tray next to him.

"Doctor James." he ran his hands through his hair.

"You don't believe me." she stood up, trying not to panic.

He looked back at her.

"No." he said flatly. "That's not it. It's...see, I know. You're right. I know you're right. That's what I'm trying to say."

"Um." she brushed her hand over her temple. "I'm gonna sit now."

He nodded, color drained from his already pale skin. "Me too."

"Alright. You just need...to explain. I'm getting a headache." she moaned.

He hugged himself and shook his head.

"I can't tell you here. How bout a cuppa?"

"Could we? I can't tell you how nasty we've got it at Bad Wolf."

Rory led her out of the examination room and past the guard who'd been sent with her.

"I'm taking Miss Pond to get some antibiotics." Rory explained to the guard.

The man moved as if to come with them, but Rory smiled disarmingly at him. "We won't be a minute. I'll make sure she doesn't escape."

He had an almost painfully firm grim on Amelia's arm to prove his point.

Rory took her into a back room and shut the door firmly, drawing the curtain over the small window.

A small coffee pot sat in the corner, and Amelia gratefully accepted the steaming Styrofoam cup that the nurse handed her.

"It's good." she mused, licking her lips.

"Look. I have to tell you this." he said.

"I'm..."

"What is it? Please...I have to tell you."

She nodded slowly, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

He gestured vaguely, as if trying to grasp the right words. "I...know you're right. Doctor James is trying to kill...someone."

"Well, that's reassuring."

He smiled. "I love your accent."

She ducked her head, hiding a smile. "Shut up. Tell me the story."

He blushed. "Right."

**Reviews are love! :) **


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay, here it goes." Rory blew his breath out loud and long. "I know that James is trying to kill you."

"How?" Amelia leaned forward.

"Okay, this is going to sound crazy."

Amelia just looked at him.

"Right." he smiled a little. "Nothing could sound any crazier at this point. So...I've been watching him recently. I don't know why I started watching him." he shrugged. "I guess it was because he was acting a little weird.

"He kind of..quit seeing patients other than the ones that came from your place; Bad Wolf. It was kind of creepy. As soon as he started paying attention to the asylum, the number of patients we got from there doubled."

Amelia raised her eyebrow quizzically.

"I mean, we always get patients to take care of. Self harm, victims of the more aggressive patients, the ones that reacted poorly to their medication; it's not that weird for us to get one every couple of weeks. You know this; the asylum and the hospital are only a few kilometers apart."

"It makes sense."

"Right."

"I...kept seeing James. He was a good doctor. Great guy, really. Then something changed, and he started just shrugging off cases. Passing them off to other doctors, even trying to slip some to the nurses. Almost got caught a few times." Rory shook his head. "But if they were from Bad Wolf, he was all over their case."

"That's a little weird, but not bad."

"No, you don't understand."

Amelia set her coffee down. "Tell me then."

"All the patients he was seeing? They started dying."

Amelia's heart thudded into her stomach. "Dying how?"

"I don't know, it seemed normal at first." Rory rubbed his nose. "But then the ones that just came in for physicals or with something as simple as a broken arm starting dying off. And I think he was looking for you; waiting for you. He was getting impatient with all the ones that weren't you."

"Why would you say that? I'm not special." Amy's fingers were weaving more and more tightly together to keep them from shaking.

"How long has James been visiting you at Bad Wolf?"

"Something like two weeks."

"And you're not dead yet." Rory said grimly. "Every other patient from BW was dead before the first week was over."

"What does he want with me?"

"I don't know...all I know is I need to get you out of here."

"How? I'm under guard every minute of the day."

"Look around. You're not under guard right now." he smiled mischievously.

Amelia's eyes widened, and she saw Rory smile with amusement at her reaction. "That's right! You told the guard off...or flirted him off." she paused, blushing. "Are you two?..." she trailed off.

"He thinks so. I've never used it against him like that; I feel a bit guilty."

"Well it saved me."

"Not yet. We...should get out of here." he stood up and held out his hand.

"Where are we going?" she asked, suddenly afraid.

"I don't know...we might start with my flat. You know, until we figure out a way to get you somewhere really safe. I don't know, we could..."

"I trust you." she said quickly.

He paused, blinking at her "What? I mean...oh. Good. I mean, that's nice to know...I trust you, too."

"You're a bit awkward, you know that?"

He turned pink and looked like he might start crying.

"But you're cute." she added.

It was just getting worse. She shut her mouth and took his hand, and he led her out of the room.

"Where are you taking her?" the guard demanded, flexing his biceps as he leaned against the wall in front of them.

Amelia watched closely as Rory teared up and looked up into the tall man. "She wants to see the flowers. I thought that it would be beautiful for her."

The other man started tearing up at the sight of Rory's wet eyes. "That is so sweet of you to think of her." he turned to Amelia. "You enjoy the flowers, love."

Amelia smiled. "Oh, I will."

They strolled through the parking lot, Amelia leaning on Rory's arm.

"We have to walk a little faster." he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. It was awkward.

"Is he going to tell on us?" she breathed, quickening her steps.

"No. He's got a bigger crush on the security head than on me. He'd rather cover for me and keep his good standing than let on that we slipped through his fingers."

He used the automatic button on his car to unlock it, opened the back door, and helped Amelia lie down in the back seat and covered her with a blanket and a few jackets.

"Just lie still."

"Okay." she whispered, tasting the wool blanket that was scratching her face.

"And don't suffocate."

"I won't. You're bossy."

"I am?"

"No. I was just joking."

"Oh."

He nodded, as if trying to decide whether or not to believe her. It was an almost irresistibly adorable look.

–

DWDWDWDWDWDWDWDWDW

The drive to Rory's home was really long. So long that Rory had to shake Amy awake when they'd arrived.

"So, this is my place."

"You have a cat?"

"Three, actually. They're not mine, they're my mums...I'm watching them while she and dad are in the country. I hate them."

"I hate cats, too."

"Really?"

Amy tucked her hair behind her ear, suddenly conscious of just how unkept it was. "Mmm."

"Are you, uh. Want something to eat?"

"Please."

And so the next hour proceeded. Very awkward and slow. And Amy just wanted to sleep, but she was afraid.

"Where am I going to go?" she asked, fingering the paper plate that Rory had put in her plate over an hour ago.

"What if we go to Paris?"

She laughed. "What?"

"Seriously, look where I'm living. Are they going to assume that on our resources we're going to go to Paris? And I've always wanted to go."

"To Paris?"

"Mmhmm."

"That actually sounds lovely." Amy hesitated. "May I use your shower?"

"My shower? Um yeah. Of course. I'll get you a towel."

The hot water felt so good. Amelia closed her eyes and let it caress her lids and break through her lips.

Paris. The water ran down her skin, washing away the chemical-clean smell of the nasty white dress that had been her fashion statement for the last few years. Now she smelled like Rory's soap; like Rory. It calmed her down to the point that she almost fell asleep again, standing up with the water running cold.

She was going to tell Rory just how excited she was about Paris. She'd scratched a little drawing of the Eiffel tower in the sheet rock at the head of her bed. Jenna, her anesthesiologist, had seen it, and the next day there was a 8" by 11" poster rolled in a tube on her dinner tray. It had almost been her shrine; she had sat in front of it every day, tracing the details of the poster with her finger and willing the Doctor to come in the TARDIS and fly her there. She'd heard people in bad places say "anywhere but here", which was true, but for her the answer was different. Paris.

She turned off the water and put the dress back on.

She opened her mouth to tell Rory about Paris as she emerged from the steam of the bathroom, but he was lying on the floor.

"Rory!" She got on her knees beside him and ran her fingers through his hair. A large syringe was sticking out of his arm.

"What..."

He stirred. "Amy, run."

"No, Amelia. I think you should stay here." Dr. James' greasy voice said over her head.


	4. Chapter 4

"Well, look at you. I'm so proud, Amelia. I really am. Lovely choice of a boyfriend."

"He's not my..." Amy glanced at the limp form on the floor.

Rory had completely lost consciousness. His mouth was hanging open, and he was shaking slightly.

"What did you give him?" she demanded. She sort of sounded like a cat, she realized. Hissing like that.

"Dear, you don't have the brains for that. I'll say it so you can understand." James crouched at Rory's head, patting the man's shoulder. "It's making him feel very hurt, dear, like there are knives and acid in him. And it's making him sleep."

Grunting, James stood up, giving Rory a good kick in the head as he did so.

"Don't do that!"

Amy was definitely a cat. No regular human could land on a man's shoulders and scratch his face like that.

Before she knew it, she was slapped on her back beside Rory.

"Not funny." James growled, wiping blood off his face.

Wait...was his blood _orange_?

He glowered down at her, his fingers extending into rubbery probes that were moving quickly towards her face.

"What are you?" she sobbed.

"I'm just a friend of the Doctor's. Want to know where he's been hiding."

"You can't be his friend. You wouldn't be attacking me! He wouldn't allow that!"

"Okay, so maybe I'm not his friend. That's not going to make much of a difference to you."

His whole body had turned a hideous orange hue, and the probes were inches away from her eyeballs.

Amelia screamed and rolled across the floor. James shouted as the probes on his fingers hit the floor. Maybe they were sensitive. Gasping, Amelia kept rolling and grabbed a vase from the coffee table. She broke it against the table leg. She winced as fragments of it pierced her arm and side as she rolled again, this time in the other direction; but she didn't let go of the third or so of the vase left in her hand. Dodging James' legs, she lashed out with the pottery and managed to sever the ends off of two of the probes.

She'd never heard such a horrible sound in her life. The orange probes released an even more orange gassy substance that stung her eyes. It made a weird hissing noise, like a tire that had been pierced with a nail. But that wasn't the worst sound. The worst was the guttural scream of the alien doctor as he fell to his knees, his wounded fingers flailing near his head.

Amelia blinked the tears out of her eyes and coughed, her head whirling. Maybe this was the stuff that James had injected Rory with. Poor Rory.

James seemed to be recovering himself, so Amelia forced herself into action.

She swung the pottery again; missing, but scaring the monster off enough for her to grab Rory and start dragging him across the room by his arms.

"Why are you so heavy?" she shouted.

He just moaned at her.

They bumped down the steps, Amy crying and Rory sleeping, and the wounded alien dragging his tentacles behind him and slowly getting closer and closer.

"Get away!" she screamed. "Just get away!"

The tentacles were tickling her neck, and she screamed, pulling harder at Rory.

"Noo!" His feet were out the door. Squeezing her eyes shut, Amelia hurled herself against the door, slamming it on the tentacles.

More horrible screaming from inside.

Rory's next door neighbors had come outside and were staring at her.

"Do you need help, dear?"

"No, it's okay. His ex is getting out of hand." she managed breathlessly.

They accepted that and moved back inside.

"That's an acceptable answer?" she groaned at Rory. She had the car door open and was getting him inside. "How many arms and legs do you have anyway?"

She forced him into the car and got the door shut, finally. As she raced around to the driver's door, she threw a glance at the front door. Tentacles were still dangling out. Good.

She climbed in, locked the doors, and threw herself over the seat, forcing her fingers through his pockets until she retrieved his car keys.

"Sorry, I know we've only just met."

The engine started, and she wrapped her fingers tightly around the wheel.

"I don't know how to drive!" she wailed, moving her left hand to hover over the gear shift. "What..."

"What's going on?" Rory's coat muttered from the back seat.

"Being chased! Can't drive!" she cried.

"Oh...my head. Amy, shift into reverse. Hit the gas...the thin one! Hit it!"

Amy closed her eyes as the vehicle accelerated backwards.

"Don't close your eyes...there goes the mailbox."

Amy opened her eyes.

"We're in the street! Now what!"

"Brake and put it in drive! Now! Brake, yeah. That one. Now gas again and _hit it!_"

She was driving.

"Amy, steer! Now! You can do this! Turn! Keep pushing the gas!"

He gave her directions like these, moaning occasionally, until they were out of the neighborhood and onto the main highway. Rory's voice sounded faint.

"Do you think you can get the car to the side of the road?"

"I think so."

"Good. Put it in park."

She did.

Rory leaned his head back on his seat and closed his eyes. Amelia's hands didn't leave the wheel, and she realized that she was crying. Really hard.

"You did it. It's okay."

Rory was leaning forward, rubbing her back gently.

She turned around. "Are you okay?" she looked at his face. "Rory! You're bleeding!"

"I'm okay." he whispered. The blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth shouted the opposite.

"I don't think so! How do you feel?"

Rory gritted his teeth, running his fingers with a professional-like searching across his midsection.

"Do you know what it put in me?" Rory was painfully removing the remains of the broken syringe from his arm.

"No, but he said that you would feel like you have acid and knives in you."

"I think it actually has the same effect...not just the feeling." Rory was gasping for air.

"Are you going to be alright?"

"Yes. It can't be that bad."

He grunted as he moved over and opened his door. "Move over, I'm driving."

"No! You can't drive like this."

"Well, you can't drive at all." he bit back.

"I can too! Did you see how far we got..."

"Please, Amy."

"And why do you keep calling me Amy?"

"Because that's your name...right?"

"No! My name is Amelia." She could feel her nose going in the air.

"Oh...I'm sorry. I thought it was. But...I think you're more of an Amy."

"Well, that's not my name. So that's not who I am."

"Please let me drive?"

She sighed and unfastened her safety belt.

"Fine."


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you going to pass out?" Amelia asked.

Rory shook his head. "Not yet."

"You don't look so hot." she commented, observing his pained posture. One hand was on the wheel, his eyes were on the road, and his other was tightly clamped over his middle.

"I'm alright." he tried to smile at her. "Did you think I was hot...before?"

"No, course not. You're a plain looking fellow to be honest."

"Ouch. Is it the nose?"

"What else would it be?" she retorted.

He smiled a little, then his face fell back into a grimace. But Amelia didn't notice; she was staring out the window.

"Alright, I lied."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. I think you're gorgeous. Oh, that's embarrassing. Did I say that out loud?"

"You did." he was giggling a little.

"What are you, a school boy? Shut up."

She crossed her arms and pressed her forehead against the window. "How far to the airport?"

"Another hour, maybe." Rory groaned lightly.

"Does it hurt a lot?"

"It's not horrible."

"You're the one lying now." Amy turned and frowned at him.

"Okay, I'm lying. Sue me."

"I might, just for you kidnapping me."

"Excuse me, you're the one who dragged me unconscious into the back of a vehicle." He surveyed her stick-thin arms in wonder. "How on earth did you do that anyway?"

"You would have had quite an adrenaline rush if you'd been chased by that thing, too?"

"You said he turned into a monster?"

"Yeah."

Rory pressed his lips together.

"You don't believe me?"

"Amy, it really cra..."

"Don't say crazy. I'm not crazy."

She could see the gears slamming into reverse in his head.

"No! I didn't mean that you were crazy. Just the idea of a monster...in my flat...it's so wrong!"

"I know. Imagine if you went to the police and told them that there was a monster in your house."

He quieted. "Is that what happened to you?"

"Well, actually, I told them that a man from the stars came to my house in a blue box. And that I _thought_ there was a monster in my house. Thus my lovely stay in BW."

"A man in a blue box?"

She sighed. "He told me he was an alien. He crashed into my garden when I was a kid in a blue phone box."

"That doesn't sound quite as insane as an orange monster that used to be a doctor." he commented.

"Yeah, you might want to be a bit quite about that. Look what happened to me."

"Amy?"

She looked at him. "Yes?"

"I think it's rotten what happened to you. I'm so sorry."

"No one's ever said that to me before." she could hear her voice getting hard in an attempt to cover the tears.

"Well, I'm saying it. I'm bloody sorry that you had to go through something so horrid."

"Thanks."

"Are you cold?"

"A little."

He gestured with his head toward the back seat. "I've got a sweater if you'd like."

She reached back and pulled the sweater out of the seat and slid her arms into the sleeves, the happy smell completely encompassing her.

"Thanks."

"Mm."

–

DWDWDWDWDWDWDWDWDW

They finally arrived at the airport.

"Do you think this is a bad idea? They might be looking for me."

"I don't know...we should give it a go."

They sat in the lot, staring at the doors.

"I have an idea." Rory said slowly.

He pulled into the lower level of the garage, in a dark corner.

"I've got a bit of my laundry in the back." he said. "Just had it done. We can change you out of that dress and put your hair up in a hat. And you can have the belt, otherwise it'll all fall off of you."

"Will it work?"

"I hope so. Your hair's a bit of a give away, so if we get it into my cap you should have a decent chance."

Amy slid into the backseat, and Rory handed her a hat, belt, brown trousers, and a blue jumper. He sat in the front again and stared straight ahead as Amy wriggled out of the white bag-like dress and into his clothes. She slipped her white sandals back on, pulled the sweater over the jumper, and put the belt over all of it. Then they climbed out of the car.

"Well?"

"You look a bit hipster, actually." he smiled. "Here..."

Sticking his tongue in his cheek, he reached forward and brushed a strand of hair off her neck and back into the cap. He paused with his hand against her face for a moment, then stepped back quickly.

"There." he whispered.

"Thanks." she breathed out. She'd been afraid that he was going to do something dumb like kiss her. Now that he had backed away, she almost wished that he had.

"Alright." he said, his voice rising to a normal volume. "Shall we go to Paris, madam?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Rory, you need to go to the hospital. Not get on a plane."

Rory was sitting next to her at the gate as they waited to board their flight; he was doubled over with his head on his knees and his arms around his stomach.

"Please shut up." he forced out. "Gotta get through this."

She bit her lip and reached out, drawing little patterns on his shaking shoulders with her fingertip. "Is that good?"

"Don't stop."

She continued to draw, showing him her life story in little scribbled drawings. The first day at Bad Wolf. Her fifth birthday. Happy things, like the Eiffel Tower poster. And the blue phone box. And a roughly done face of a young man who was centuries old. She drew Rory's nose, and she drew a heart. Her own did a little flip, and she wiped the doodle out, even though it was only her fingertip and there was nothing to see.

Rory moaned. "It hurts!"

"There must be something I can get for you."

He put his arms on his knees and buried his face in them. "Please talk. I like your accent, it helps."

"Um, okay. What should I say?"  
His hand was suddenly wrapped around hers, holding on.

"Rory."

"We...can't go to the hospital. We have to get you out of here."

"Then I'll go on alone! You're not well."

He sat up, his eyes watering. "You don't understand, Amy. I can't leave you now. I have to make sure you're alright."

His head went back down, and Amy sat in silence, stroking the back of his sweaty hand as his fingers cut of the circulation in hers.

"When I was a little girl, people would cry for me." she began. " My parents died, and everyone died. So people just cried for me. I was little and cute. And they were sad for me. And then there was nobody else who knew who I was. They were just gone. So I guess I cried for myself. Then even that stopped...I just lived my life." she winced at the memory. "I think I'm broken, Rory."

He just squeezed her hand harder, not saying a word.

DWDWDWDWDWDWDWDWDW

Amy was never sure how it happened...she got herself and Rory onto the plane with no incident, and the next thing she knew he was sleeping restlessly beside her while she filled out customs forms. They had landed, she'd gotten him off the plane, even though she wasn't sure he was really awake. Customs was fine. Then they were out on the street in front of the airport.

Rory was borderline unconscious, sagged over on her so limply. His breath was hot and slow on her neck, and his eyelids shone from the sweat on them.

"This is ridiculous." she muttered. "We're taking you to a hospital, mister."

DWDWDWDWDWDWDWDWDW

The doctors did a horrible kind of double take as Amy half carried and half dragged Rory into the emergency unit. The horrible, gut-twisting sensation in her core told her just how bad the situation was as a orchestra of stampeding feet and chattering questions and commands overwhelmed her.

In the midst of the confusion, she focused her eyes on Rory, pushing aside guilt for not getting help for him sooner, and willing him to get better. To be alright.

There was a voice in her head, screaming what she was so afraid was the truth.

He's going to die. It's your fault. And you're never going to get to...

No. She wasn't going to go down that road. She'd never been in love. This wasn't the right time.

Amy let her body melt into the chair in the waiting room that one of the nurses pushed her into.

Wait here, they said. You need to stay calm. We're going to do everything we can. Please, just wait here.

She'd spent the last few years of her life waiting at Bad Wolf. She was waiting for her raggedy man. She'd waited for Rory. She just hadn't known she was waiting, before. She knew that she couldn't wait anymore.

But here she was, in a room that smelled like antiseptic and sweaty impatience; nerves. That funny smell of scrubs, and maybe the smell of fresh paint; it was mixed with the smell of something else. Mildew, maybe. She couldn't ever be sure.

And there was the nurse again. She was very tall, and had broad shoulders. She looked tired.

"Why don't you try to sleep?" she propositioned to the lump of sweater in the chair. Amy realized that she was the lump, and that it is rude not to answer, even if you are a sweater that is bunched in a heap with bits of trouser showing.

"Thank you."

Was that the right thing to say? Thank you? Or was it yes ma'am, or bug off?

She nodded her head, just to doubly reassure the woman that she'd heard.

Sleep. It would never happen. Not while the unknown stretched for an overwhelming length beyond her grasp. Her thoughts waded through the thick fog, groping for something. Something that would fill her with reassurance and comfort. There was nothing but the florescent lights of the hospital.

DWDWDWDWDWDWDWDWDW

In sad movies, it sometimes ended like this.

Don't think like that. Sometimes this is the middle bit. In inspirational films, this is only the middle bit. It will be the happy inspirational film. This is the middle bit.

Or maybe it's not. Maybe this is the sad ending.

Maybe it's almost the ending. Maybe after this is the bit where the girl throws herself off the bridge because he's gone and she can't live without him.

Would I do that?  
His hands are so cold. Is he still breathing? The machine says he is.

This has to be the middle bit. Please, God if you're out there, make this the middle bit.

Raggedy man?

Santa?

Someone. Anyone.

It's Amelia Pond.

It's Amy.

Help him.

I'll do anything.

Somebody!

DWDWDWDWDWDWDWDWDW

"Amy."

"Amy."

Three more times, and then she realized that it was her name, and that she'd fallen asleep. There was something in her hand. Rory's.

She sat up quickly and pushed her hair out of her face.

"Hey, you're awake!"

His eyes looked back at her, and she wanted to look away. They were so empty and bloodshot and tired.

He smiled wearily, apparently having used up all his strength forcing her name out.

"Yeah, just rest." she said quickly. "We can talk later. I'm here."

It was that simple, that short, and his eyelids were curtain down on her time with him. Curtain up on all the fears that had flooded her head.

"Rory."

The word wasn't meant to wake him, and it didn't. She whispered it, but it came from somewhere deeper than her throat, something more solid than her tongue. The name slipped out like it had been there all along, waiting to be spoken. It fit in her mouth better than her own name, or the word "hello". It was her word.

It was her Rory.

She leaned down and let her forehead rest against his arm, weaving her fingers into his.

She closed her eyes and slowly started humming. It was tuneless, but she felt his hand relax as her voice filled the room. It wasn't a song. More like a message traveling through his sleeping mind to tell him that she was there.

Suddenly, without warning, it hit her that he knew, too. He'd known before she had. Her name was his word. Just like his was hers. They belonged.

Nothing had ever felt so right, or so like home. Not her Raggedy man, not her mum and dad, not her aunt, not her house. Rory was home.

Home was breathing slowly, laboriously. Home was slipping out of her grasp. Home was going to be gone soon.

The steady monitor's beeping tried to console the red haired sweater crouched over the home-man, but it could not.

If Rory had been awake, he would have held Amy after he realized that she was getting his arm wet. The salty hot liquid dripped on his pale skin, running down towards the sheets to escape the sadness. Don't cry, Amy. Don't cry.

He would have said that.


	7. Chapter 7

"Yeah...that one. No. You had it...that one."

"This one?"

"Mmhmm."

"You're sure?"

Amy's finger's trembled at the knob.

"Please, Amy. Turn it off."

"Won't you be in pain again?"  
Rory was pale, and at her words, he turned white. "Yes."  
She shut her mouth. She couldn't let him lose it; not now.

She turned the knob all the way, and the flow of morphine stopped.

"It'll be alright." he said softly as she sat back down. "You're here. You can help me get through it."

"What can I do?"

"You're just here. It helps."

He smiled a little and gave her hand a weak squeeze.

"What should we do when I get well?" he asked.

Amy pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth as hard as she could. It was a technique she'd learned early on at Bad Wolf...she read in a book that it's physically impossible to shed tears with your tongue in that position. The book was right.

"Umm..." she said slowly after giving herself a few seconds to get control. "We could go to the beach."

"I've been. More exciting than the beach."

"We could flee to a different country to escape a deadly alien? And I could drive a bit...I've never driven a car before." she teased. Teasing maybe was good.

"Ah, see, but I've done that already." he said, sighing.

"Oh." she pretended to be disappointed. "Well..." she tapped her fingers on her chin. A sly smile crept over her face.

"We could get married."

The sentence just hung in the air like a man on a noose, swinging in eerie silence for a moment. She didn't quite know what to make of the look on Rory's face. Maybe utter shock. Not horror. Not rejection. Just shock.

She opened her mouth to backpedal, to retract the sentence, but his hand suddenly deadlocked on hers and he cried.

"Hurts!" he bit out.

"That's it. I'm turning it back on." she said firmly, wrenching her hand away and reaching for the knob.

"No. No, no. Don't." he gasped. "I need to feel..I need to know what's going on inside."  
"No, Rory! You don't! You need to rest! You need to get better! Feeling is not going to make a bit of difference."

He started to argue, but his own voice rose against the pain and cut him off.

She ignored his hand that brushed hers as he tried to grasp her and pull her back; she turned the knob, turned and took Rory's hand, then wrapped her arms around him.

In her head, she knew what she was doing. She was going to use her body to deflect the pain away from Rory. She was going to comfort him. She was keeping him safe.

He was trembling and sweating, his breath blasting heat into her ear. She shuddered and held tighter, whispering his name over and over to him.

She wanted to call the nurses, but she knew what was best. Her with him, and nobody else. That was best.

There was silence after a while.

"Are you alright?" she whispered. Her fingers traced little patterns on his gown, right over his heart. Up and down, he was breathing.

"Yeah." he whispered back. "Thank you."

She kissed the top of his head quickly and started to get up.

"Please stay."

Her hair was in her face, and she took her time moving it behind her ear. Slowly, with just two fingers. It was a little wet. Maybe from his sweat, or maybe her crying.

His eyes were pleading with her, desperately, hopefully.

She let herself fold back down onto his chest.

"Rory, we should talk."

"Of course. About anything."

"I'm going to find a way to get you better."

"Amy..."

"No, I'm serious. There has to be something we can do."

His voice slid over the top of her head as he rested his chin on her hair. "Amy, I spoke with the Doctors."

She couldn't lie there anymore. He grunted sharply, wincing as she rose from his chest too quickly.

"Why didn't you tell me?"  
"It's not good Amy. They don't know what's wrong. They can't do anything."

He shifted, not meeting her gaze.

"I'm going to die Amy, they're just trying to make me comfortable."  
"Shouldn't they have told me?" she gasped breathlessly.

"I asked them not to, but if you're going to do something crazy, I want to save you the effort."

"It's not fair!" she said, forcing her to stay even the slightest bit controlled. "You saved my life, I should get to return the favor."

"You did save me though, when you dragged me out of the house." he said, his words slurring slightly.

He was going to go to sleep again.

"Have you ever read the scary stories where the only way to save the people was to kill the monster?" she whispered. He smiled a little at her, obviously too far gone into the embrace of sleep to register her words.

"Like Sir George and the Dragon. Someone has to kill the beast in order for the people to survive." she continued. His steady, slowed breathing encouraged her onward. "So that's what I've been thinking; what if the only way to stop the poison is for the monster to be dead?"

She shook her head. "Even if it isn't...but it has to be. It is."

Grabbing the small paper pad and pen from beside his bed, she scribbled a note and laid it on his chest.

"I'm coming back. And you better be alive and alright when I return." she told him.

She turned to leave.

"Amy, what..."

He wasn't supposed to wake up. He couldn't know she was leaving.

She was running out of time.

"Where are you going?"

She exhaled and turned to face him.

"I'm going to kill the monster." her voice sounded flat and harsh in her own ears.

"No you're not!"

"Don't you dare try to sit up."

It was too late, and the strain of the action showed on his face.

"I won't let you go."

"You don't have a choice."  
She rushed at him as he tried to stand up.

Explosion.

How had her lips come in contact with his?

Closing her eyes, she pushed his shoulders down into the bed, still kissing him.

"Stay, Rory." she got out. His lips tasted like that good smell she had registered when she'd put on his sweater, and been in his house. It was her taste, her smell.

It was salty, too.

"Don't cry." she pulled back and wiped the tears off his face, brushing them away and moving a stray lock from his forehead. "Don't cry, Rory."

Little choking sobs started coming from him, and she kissed him again. He didn't stop crying, but he was kissing her back.

Amy had always loved the opera, and the sweet music of love songs that start out sad and slow. The love songs that rip into your heart. Then, half way through, the song becomes so beautiful that it crashes into your soul and utterly destroys you with its perfect joy.

She tasted that song as she kissed Rory.

She had to succeed. This had to work. She had to have another kiss. For every day of her life, she wanted another love song kiss, just from Rory and not from anybody else.

"Goodbye, Rory."


End file.
